


sunrise

by momentofzen



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: Divorce, Fluff, Fluff fluff and more fluff, Implied Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 18:30:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11213772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momentofzen/pseuds/momentofzen
Summary: Stephen feared the very moment he'd have to unlock the door and step out to face his boss and say "I'm sorry I fucked you senseless last night but you seemed to have enjoyed it. I did too. If you'd like to do it again sometime, it'd be very much appreciated. If not, it's alright." and try not to let anything similar to "yes, I also forgot to mention I'm hopelessly in love with you" escape while at it.





	sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in 2002.

Stephen could lie and pretend it was the morning sun which crept in through the half opened curtains what awoke him but actually, it was the strange body stirring next to him. _Tiny. Hairy. Dark hair turning grey. Oh good, he was breathing. Meant he was alive._

Stephen blindly reached for the nightstand and found his glasses - he put them on and suddenly everything was clear. The soft light creeping in and dyeing everything of light gold. The 7 am traffic outside. The birds chirping, the taxis honking.

He didn't have the guts to wake Jon up -- he was probably tired. _and sore_  - in the back of his mind, he added proudly. Plus, waking him up would mean making sense of all that had happened the night before and that definitely wasn't what Stephen was looking for this early in the morning.

Getting up slowly and carefully to not disturb the sleeping hairy ball of a man next to him, Stephen soon headed to the bathroom as quietly as he could and stared in the mirror.

_35 years old, recently divorced, recently came to agreement with the fact he had been in love with his colleague, boss, friend (and occasional best friend) since two years ago._

_35 years old, 5'11' and a collection of dark circles around his chocolate eyes, hidden behind round nerdy glasses._

_35 years old, slightly uneven ears, tousled brown hair and a hairy chest._

What could he do now? Locked in his bathroom, Stephen feared the very moment he'd have to unlock the door and step out to face his boss and say _"I'm sorry I fucked you senseless last night but you seemed to have enjoyed it. I did too. If you'd like to do it again sometime, it'd be very much appreciated. If not, it's alright."_ and try not to let anything similar to _"yes, I also forgot to mention I'm hopelessly in love with you"_ escape while at it.

"Stephen?" A low voice called from the kitchen and snapped him out of his reverie.

Stephen unlocked the door and walked to the messy kitchen carefully as if he was walking into a lion's den.

"I made you coffee. Black, no sugar, just how you take it."

Instead of a lion, Stephen was greeted by a... _kitten_. Or some other creature as harmless as one.

Stephen saw a smiling Jon, messy greyish hair and wide, grey eyes (which were now contorted and seemed to follow his lips on choosing to smile as well) sitting on a chair and enjoying the sunlight and fresh summer breeze that came in from the small balcony nearby. Some of his hair glued to his forehead due to the sweat of waking up in the NYC heat, mid-june. He calmly sipped on his (Stephen's, actually) mug and Stephen took notice he had put on his boxers from the night before (hideous, those boxers were, blue with small white dots all over. He had even made fun of them the night before, if he remembered clearly.) and... a grey shirt. Was it _his? It could only be his. The shirt was a bit too big on him._

"Um... sorry. I couldn't find my shirt and I found this one on the floor and... yeah."

Stephen's question was answered even before he had the opportunity to ask it.

"I noticed." Stephen replied with a half smile, grabbed the mug Jon had offered to him and sat down.

"Jon-" He broke the silence (if you count traffic noises as silence) after a while.

"-Stephen..." Jon began.

"... I had fun last night." Jon said, and diverted his gaze from the sunny pavement and the traffic to look at Stephen.

And both of them laughed. Because above all, at the end of the day, they were friends. And nothing would ever change that. Not even sex.

"You moan like a girl, Jonathan." Stephen couldn't help but banter. Jon joined in.

" _And you fuck like one_."

"Yeah?" Stephen questioned softly, putting his mug down to look at the smaller man in front of him in the eyes.

" _Yeah_." Jon said with a soft smile.

He stood up all of the sudden and went round the table to bend over and cup Jon's face in his hands with a shit-eating grin. "I'll show you girl."

"Stephen, you _do_ realize you're naked, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Just making sure. I thought you didn't know."

" _Shut up._ "

Stephen brushed his nose against Jon's and brushed some of his hair off of his forehead - smiling as the fact that this wasn't another one of his dreams hit him. It was real.

"So, are ya gonna kiss me or what?" Jon said, faux-mock impatience clear in his voice. 

Stephen laughed.

"Ask nicely, Jonathan."

"I'm  _older."_

"Yeah, but I'm taller. And don't you forget it."

-

By noon, Stephen felt the need to apologize for fucking his boss twice in a row.

Instead, they both laughed and made jokes about it.

_"Is this your way of getting the Daily Show all for yourself after I retire, Stephen?" Jon would ask, legs tangled with his and fingers lost in his messy brown hair._

_"So what if it is?" Stephen would banter, smiling smugly and pushing his glasses up his nose._

_"Keep doing it, because I like it." Jon would reply and steal his glasses to put them on himself._

_"I wasn't plannning on stopping- ah, you little fuck."_

A perfect ending to a perfect summer morning.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if Stephen truly was 35 in 2002. I was just too lazy to look it up, pls forgive. I'm probably wrong.  
> I wanted to write angst but for some reason I could only write fluff. I guess writing summer fluff at 3 am on a winter night is a form to comfort myself. As I said before, writing about these two is the only thing that seems to keep me sane nowadays.


End file.
